The clanking of the chains synched with the deep, piercing cry of the man swinging from it. The room was pitch dark, with no trace of light. The man was stark naked, had brutal gashes running from his face down to his body, and his face was swollen beyond recognition. He was a horrid sight, and his cries were growing weaker with each fleeting second.

Ghost sat a few inches across him, fiddling with the gun in his hands. His expression was darker than usual, and something about the continuous whimpering of the man irked him.

"You wanna know what you did wrong, Rasta?" He asked with a gruff, looking...